


Āmukha

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-06 17:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: In which Kuntala comes to Mahishmati ten years early.





	Āmukha

**Author's Note:**

> Āmukha: _Sanskrit_ : (noun) prelude, prologue.

Mahishmati views the arrival of its neighbors to the south with far more excitement than do its princes, and consequently is far more disappointed with the result. Strictly speaking, the Kuntalan royal family does not inspire as much fervor as the possibility of impressing the mountain rustics with the city's power and prestige. Rich or poor, citizens are united by smugness: no matter how limited anyone's personal circumstances, they have the fortune of residing in Mahishmati instead of among the uncultured mountains. For days, the streets are festooned with flags, the statues polished, the best sweetmeats laid tantalizingly out on display; the people of Mahishmati have been promised slack-jawed amazement on the part of the visiting bumpkins, and so it is rather a disappointment when the Kuntalans do not dock until sometime after midnight, arrive at the palace with very little pomp and show, and retire, soon after, to bed. 

The princes, on the other hand, greeted the news of the impending royal visit with the same mild irritation afforded any other such diplomatic proceeding. It means a day—or more!— of standing in formal attire at the Queen Mother's side, instead of outside enjoying the sunlight and spring air. Besides, Kattappa will be busy, as well, seeing after their guests' security, which means there won't even be any lessons in warfare to look forward to. So when the news comes that the Kuntalan delegation requests the morning to rest before an official welcome in court, both boys escape to the training court with no little glee. It may only be a short respite, but freedom is freedom. Kattappa had set them to practicing their swordwork during their last lesson, so with any luck, even if discovered, they can claim they were only following their teacher’s command instead of avoiding their responsibilities. 

Baahubali notices the intruder first. 

It takes longer than it should have—silent though she remains, she makes no effort to hide her presence—and he’s never quite certain what it says about his powers of observation that the flicker of movement to his left almost goes unperceived. He steps forward and to the right, so Bhalla has to face away from her to compensate, but still only has enough time to study her quickly (tall for her age, heart-shaped face, too-rigid posture, and dressed in boy’s clothing despite the thick dark plait down her back) before Bhalla barks: “You there! What are you doing here?” 

She turns, unconcerned, from where she had been studying the weapons arrayed along the walls —and perhaps it should sting that her attention was drawn there, rather than the brothers’ clear skill. Instead Baahubali feels nothing but mild amusement. She says: “I didn’t realize a place meant for learning was forbidden, here in Mahishmati.” 

”When occupied by the royal princes, it is,” says Bhalla, and Baahubali interrupts before he can make matters worse. 

”There are no lessons today,” he offers. “Our instructor has duties elsewhere. But another day he might—” 

”I don’t need lessons,” she retorts, and _that_ would be most interesting to pursue, except Bhalla beside him narrows his eyes. 

”From Kuntala, aren’t you? That would explain why you don’t know any better. Does your princess know you’re roaming around without her permission?”

"Unlike some," the girl retorts, "the crown princess has no need for toadies to dance attendance upon her at all times." 

The taunt is well-aimed, the target misidentified. Bhalla turns away, bored already. "Do what you will, then, so long as it's not here." 

Her back straightens even more, until it must be painful. An argument would be almost anticipated, Baahubali suspects, but dismissal is unbearable. But disappointment and displeasure are a part of life, he can almost hear Uncle creak; if he took action at every instance, where would he be? 

"Prove it," he hears himself say.

He can't be certain who looks more surprised, Bhalla or the girl. She is certainly the first to recover, however. 

"What did you say?" 

"You claimed you had no need of lessons." He nods his head in the direction of the swords affixed to the walls for Uncle's students to use, careful to keep his expression free of anything but challenge. "Prove it." 

She considers for only an instant before turning to choose her weapon. As he guessed, her shoulders relax with a sword in her hand; when she faces him again, he is sure she is almost smiling. 

Baahubali raises his blade. "Bhalla—" 

"I have better things to do than serve as your judge," says his brother, with an exaggerated yawn. 

The duel begins. His first thought is that Uncle would approve of the discipline of her movements; the old man's one criticism of Baahubali is that he is entirely too prone to indulge in a swing or twirl where none is needed. She's not as strong as he is--no one is, he's found, except maybe Bhalla--but quicker than anyone else he's fought, quick enough that the world around him is limited to a few quick glances (the rising sun reflecting off golden rooftops, the subtle change in the paving stones warning him he hasn't much further to go before she has him up against a wall, Bhalla leaning against a column and watching with interest despite himself) instead of the usual leisurely looks he can take at his surroundings. 

It happens suddenly. One moment he is trying to force her to turn so he has more room to maneuver, faintly wondering how she manages to swing her plait so reliably out of the path of both swords; the next, her eyes are gazing directly into his, dark and bright and direct, and how had he not noticed them before? 

His shoulder bumps against stone, a particularly clever bit of footwork on her part catches him off balance, and Baahubali falls. 

He lands on his right knee, sending up a cloud of dust. She coughs, those eyes watering, but still her sword is held steady at his throat. 

"T-Treachery," she declares unsteadily. He can hear the laughter deep in her voice. "Will you make me as graceless in victory as you are in defeat?"

He isn't accustomed enough to losing a fight for it to be anything but an agreeable novelty. Baahubali beams at her, free of shame. "I try to use every advantage at my disposal." 

She laughs outright this time; shaking her head, she lowers her weapon and gives him her hand. He allows her to pull him up to his feet. He does not dwell on how her hand feels warm and comfortable inside his own. 

"Well, well." Bhalla approaches, favoring both of them with a mocking clap of his hands. "Anyone who can bring Baahu to his knees is someone worth knowing. What do they call you, girl?" 

Her smile flattens, now almost feral. "Unfortunately," she says, "I haven't found that _you_ are anyone worth knowing, and so," her fingers flex against Baahubali's; he releases them quickly, "I take my leave." 

Her head is high as she walks away. She does not look back. Vaguely he hears Bhalla mutter, "Kuntala. Uncivilized louts, all of them."

* 

When they return to the royal chambers, there’s barely enough time to wash and dress before the Kuntalan embassy finally announces that they have risen and wish to be formally presented. Even then, it takes them some time to appear; if one didn’t know better, one could suppose insolence on the part of their visitors. 

Baahubali stands to the right of his mother’s seat for what seems like hours, surreptitiously shifting his weight. She doesn’t seem too irritated by the delay, however; even after all this time, when she looks back at him, her gaze is fond and indulgent. This marks a respite from her usual duties, he guesses, and she is grateful for it, as dull as it is. 

The turban wrapped around his head itches, and before Mother can say anything, he removes it. She knows very well how much he hates them, and her only rebuke is a subtle lift of her eyebrows before she calls a servant to take the discarded turban from him. 

Bijjaladeva rises to his feet, mouth open to voice a complaint —and mercifully, he is interrupted by the sound of the herald announcing the arrival of the King of Kuntala and his sister, the Crown Princess. 

Baahubali studies the King with interest: all the world knows that he came to the throne at an almost indecently young age, but that Kuntala chose to have him rule regardless instead of appointing a regent. He doesn’t appear anything remarkable, though, only an unassuming young man not five years older than Baahubali is now, who looks at the assembly hall with awe and his sister with affection. Baahubali turns over the thought of ruling a country alone at nineteen in his mind: impossible. Even in his imaginings, Mother is there to show him the way. 

To Mother’s side, there’s a sudden intake of breath, and Baahubali knows Bhalla’s caught sight of the Crown Princess. 

He’s been trying to avoid doing so himself. If he doesn’t, he might convince himself that what happened earlier in the morning had only been an aberration, a trick of the sun, perhaps. Bad enough she stands before him in purple silks so fine one might suppose she was a stranger to blood and dust. Bad enough she does not gape or gasp at her surroundings, as self-possessed and nonchalant as her brother is not. Baahubali sees no need to compound the awkwardness of the situation. 

But Mother is introducing her sons to the delegation, and he must step forward to greet them. 

Crown Princess Devasena’s eyes, as dark and bright and beautiful as before, flicker over him and his brother, taking in Bhalla’s frown and his bare head with equal amusement. 

”Mahishmati bids you welcome,” says Mother, and Devasena dips her head in gracious thanks. When it becomes clear that neither brother will add anything to this, Mother continues, with a slight edge to her tone, “And both its princes would be happy to render you any assistance you might need.” 

”Of course, Crown Princess,” Bhalla says sourly. 

Baahubali says nothing. 

With any luck, she’ll interpret his confusion as surprise at discovering her identity, but Devasena is too clever for that. She only looks at both of them again, expression triumphant when directed at Bhalla, speculative when studying him. 

”I thank you,” she says, and her eyes stay fixed on his.

* 

Afternoon finds her in the training yard once again, sighting down an arrow with care.

She is so intent on her practice that he might think she didn't notice his arrival, or even his quiet retrieval of a bow and quiver for himself, until she remarks: "Truthfully, I prefer archery. It clears my mind, and at least I don't need to find an opponent." 

They might have been continuing a conversation that had never ended instead of one that had never begun. Mildly, Baahubali says, "You don't have to shoot alone if you don't choose to." 

She raises her eyebrows delicately; he takes that as permission to let his arrow pierce the target beside hers.

Devasena lowers her bow. “How did you know?” 

He doesn't have to ask what she means. “Mother had mentioned the King meant to bring his sister. A lady-in-waiting might disguise herself, but wouldn’t have clothes tailored to her specifications. And,” the corners of his mouth turn up, “only a princess would stride through a strange palace without embarrassment or fear.” 

Her answering grin is rueful. “If you mean to say I betrayed myself by a lack of manners, you may be right.” She pauses. “My brother tells me I am too proud to ask forgiveness or admit gratitude easily. I should have thanked you sooner.” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, how to explain that the sight of her happiness had been reward enough. Instead he aims another arrow, this time at the top of one of the mango trees growing in the courtyard. 

Devasena watches its flight with interest. “You don’t have very challenging targets in your kingdom, do you?” 

“Usually we improvise,” he admits, and she shoots off a leaf from the top of the same tree in response. 

It turns into an unspoken game: predicting the target the other will choose next, and, childishly, sending another arrow to sabotage their efforts. The targets turn more and more outrageous; in retrospect, Baahubali has to admit that aiming at the very top of the guard tower had not been the cleverest idea, having come all too close to injuring a soldier who’d stepped out onto the wall at the wrong moment if Devasena hadn’t deflected the arrow at the last moment. Even that near-miss doesn’t stop them from continuing; it’s not until Baahubali manages to send an arrow ricocheting into the courtyard gong that he realizes how late it’s become. 

“Usually the ringing of that gong means the end of our lessons with Uncle,” he says. 

“It’s not even sundown yet,” Devasena protests, but she puts down her weapon. 

“Mother’s arranged a feast in your honor,” he explains, “and tomorrow morning Bhalla and I are to show you the wonders of Mahishmati.” 

“Oh,” says Devasena. She does not seem particularly excited at the prospect. Instant by instant, the silent camaraderie between them fades. 

He takes a step closer. “I should have said it before instead of Mother: as long as you are here, I am at your service.” 

Her expression softens. "I thank you," she says again.

* 

“…and finally, the Shiva temple,” announces Bhalla in the same flat tone he’s used all morning as the chariot comes to a stop. “It has stood here in the heart of the city for a thousand years.” 

Devasena pays him as much attention as she has since they set out—which is to say, none. Instead she looks up at the temple and asks: “Where are all the people?” 

Baahubali frowns. Can’t she see them all around, going about their daily business? There, to the side, a man is carrying a basket of vegetables on his head—a…vendor, perhaps?—and a woman carrying her washing to the well. They’re keeping a respectful distance from the chariot, to be sure, but they’re very much present. Devasena follows the direction of his gaze, though, and only shakes her head slightly in response. 

Bhalla says, “The rabble knows to avoid the temple when the royal family wishes to take the blessings of the god. Considering all we do for them, the least they can do is avoid wasting the deity’s time.” 

“But everyone else: the markets, the farms, the _people_? Where are they?” 

“The markets of Mahishmati are renowned throughout the world.” Bhalla retorts. “Hundreds of countries come to trade through the harbor. There’s not a luxury you can imagine that we lack.” 

Devasena looks back and forth between the two of them in apparent disbelief. “But you’ve never seen it before with your own eyes, never walked among your people. Either of you.” 

Bhalla scoffs. “Why would we need to? Any trader who has goods worth our notice is brought to the palace. As for the rest? Would you have us dig in the mud and dirt alongside them? Carry their water-pots in case they’re too heavy?” 

“In Kuntala,” says Devasena, head held high and tone haughty, “we believe we can’t protect what we don’t know.” 

“In Kuntala,” retorts Bhalla, “you have no one to impress except half a dozen cows. The sons of Mahishmati still have some royal dignity to preserve.” 

This has gone far enough. “Bhalla—“ 

“Don’t you start, Baahu!” Bhalla sneers, the princess’s presence forgotten—or maybe it’s the very fact that he’s been challenged before company that offends him. “You’re no better. If you had your way, you’d spend all your time with old Kattappa and his band of slaves instead of making friends with your equals as you should. ” 

Baahubali is used to his brother’s infrequent outbursts and knows it’s better to ignore them. Arguing only makes things worse, and Bhalla’s anger always fades with time. He looks away. 

“That would be difficult,” Devasena cuts in, to both their surprise, “as I’ve yet to find he has any equal here.” She’s glaring at Bhalla in a way no one ever has on his behalf. It shouldn’t make something clench in his chest. It does regardless. 

Devasena leans down to speak to the charioteer, all quiet courtesy again: “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. Could you please take us back to the palace?” 

The ride back passes in stony silence. When the chariot stops, Devasena is the first to get out, stalking towards the guest quarters without another word. There’s really no reason, therefore, why he should know to go to the south wall in an hour or two, dressed in his plainest clothes. There’s really no reason why he shouldn’t be surprised to find Devasena here, a heavy shawl doing its best to render her as inconspicuous as she could possibly appear. 

She smiles to see him. He takes her hand and leads the way to the market.

* 

Mother pays him an unexpected visit that evening. 

He gets to his feet. “You could have summoned me, Mother. Why go the trouble of coming all this way?” 

Mother smiles. “It’s no trouble to see you, Baahu.” And, before he can open his mouth: “I have no task for you. I only wanted to tell you that the effort you’ve made to see to the comfort of the Crown Princess of Kuntala has not gone unnoticed.” 

A dozen possibilities, each more unlikely and extraordinary than the last, dart through his mind. It is a challenge to keep his expression unchanged. 

“Very clever on your part,” Mother goes on. “Jayasena is fond of his sister, headstrong and indulged though she is, and our spies have it that he listens to her before anyone else. I don’t doubt it’s improving her opinion of Mahishmati that makes him cooperate with us when it comes to signing our treaties. I’d advise you to continue; it won’t be for much longer, but it is in our best interest.” 

Baahubali nods, hoping fervently that it seems that the good of Mahishmati has, naturally, been foremost in his mind when it comes to his behavior over the last few days. 

“Mother,” he asks, “why are the taxes on the traders so high? It makes their wares so expensive that the vendors at the market can barely buy them and turn a profit.” 

Mother doesn’t seem offended, as he had feared; if anything, she seems proud that he’s taking an interest in matters of the state. “A fine question. The taxes must be high, Baahu, to employ the harbor guard. Without them, we have nothing to keep us safe from attack from the sea.” 

“But what if there was an easier way to protect us?” A gate, he thinks, to be raised or lowered to admit ships as necessary. Costly to build, but once completed, it could mean the harbor guard could be cut down by half. “A less expensive way?” 

Mother laughs. “If there is, and my clever son can find it, then I will consider it.” She rises to leave; he bends to touch her feet. “But what brings such a thought to my son’s mind?” 

He thinks: the stories the shopkeepers had shared, the honest work they performed for so little recompense. Devasena and the indignation on her face, the mirror of his own feelings. The chaotic beauty of the harbor and its people, and what it might become with only a little bit of help. 

He says: “Nothing in particular.”

* 

”One day,” says Devasena with feeling, “I want to show you the chariots we have in Kuntala. They’re so light as to not fit more than two people standing —not like those lumbering monstrosities you have— but they’re so quick you feel as though you might be flying.” 

Baahubali looks over at her, intending to tease her when “one day” might be, but her face is alight and her eyes sparkle and any words on his tongue drift up to the heavens. 

”I’d like that,” he says instead, sincerely. 

* 

On the day she is due to leave, Baahubali rises before daybreak and goes to the training yard out of hope rather than any real expectation. Devasena is there; of course she is. Her expression is serious, and she stands beside the swords on the wall. 

“One last time,” she says, and selects her blade. 

This duel is easier, because he knows Devasena, knows how to read every movement of her eyes and subtle shift of her body and translate them into her next action. This duel is more difficult, because there are a thousand things he wants to say, and he has nothing but blows and parries to say them with. 

Their blades lock; her back is against a wall. She raises her chin, expression determined, and just as he is about to announce his victory, leans forward to press her lips against his. 

It’s a simple kiss, almost chaste but not quite. A sword—or is that clatter two swords?—falls to the ground. The world falls away. When it reappears, Baahubali finds one of his hands cupping the back of her head to protect against the wall; her face is rosy but unrepentant. He might have known: a thousand things he had to say, and Devasena has said them all and ten other things besides. 

He steps back. “Treachery,” he says, fighting a grin. 

She laughs. “I try to use every advantage at my disposal.” 

The swords are picked up and replaced. The sun peeks over the walls. They are almost out of time. 

“You are always welcome in Kuntala,” Devasena says, her attitude as formal as her words. 

“Mahishmati would be honored should you visit again.” 

They part.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone curious, Amarendra is roughly fourteen here, and Devasena twelve, almost thirteen, in keeping with how I imagine their respective ages in canon. Although we see glimpses of Amarendra and Bhalladeva around the age they're meant to be here in the first movie, we obviously never see a young Devasena. So I've taken the liberty of fancasting Ulka Gupta, who played a younger Anushka Shetty in _Rudhramadevi_ (see [here](http://www.tollywood.net/Newspics/Ulka-Gupta-as-Childhood-Rudhramadevi.jpg) for the no-nonsense dueler*, and  
> [here](http://68.media.tumblr.com/8c5b0cb3df7e3ce2d755c5076c50b2ee/tumblr_o4r8jepbuV1rkeshso1_250.jpg) for her young princess look). However, you are all welcome to imagine her however you wish!
> 
> *Actually from the TV show _Jhansi ki Rani_ , but more in line with the male costumes we see in _Baahubali_ than those in _Rudramadevi._
> 
> I have absolutely no explanation for this except it was the cute fluffy AU I needed to write while working on other, plottier/sadder drafts, as well as giving me the chance to explore the role reversal as well as a Devasena who has to grapple with knowing Amarendra's true identity from the start.


End file.
